Prince Charming (26 page)

“We’ll get through this,” he told her. “You’re not going back on your word, are you?”

“It is madness, Rafael. You do know that, don’t you? You should not be marrying me. What is your father going to say?”

“‘Congratulations,’ I should think.”

She rolled her eyes at his nonchalant smile. His gaze was veiled, mysterious, and his green-gold eyes were as full of intelligence as any she’d ever seen—not childlike innocence.

Just like Orlando, this man had tricks up his sleeve, she thought. She decided the two of them were equally awful.

“My father doesn’t run my life, Dani,” he remarked as he released her hands and sat back again, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee and lounging against the Moroccan leather squabs. Bracing his elbow on the window ledge, he watched the landscape rolling by and spoke in a musing tone. “Oh, he may be a bit peeved at first, granted, but when he knows that the future of Ascencion is safe, he’ll forget all his fury. Mark my words.”

“And how do you intend to assure him of that?”

“By siring a son on you, of course.”

She gasped and stared at him, but said not a word—she dared not. Nor could she think how she was possibly going to resist on her wedding night, less than twenty-four hours away, when this wicked, fallen angel came to her bed…offering heaven.

  
CHAPTER  
TEN

“You have lost your mind. Do you know that?”

Hours before his wedding, Rafe stood before the mirror, giving his cravat a tug; then he checked the cut of his striped waistcoat in the mirror. “Most definitely,” he agreed. His mood was buoyant. It was a fine, clear day and soon he would marry the girl that he, not his father, had chosen.

He had taken his life in hand.

Arms folded over his chest, Adriano was leaning by the mirror, still staring at him. “Rafe.”

Rafe ignored him and nodded to his valet. The man held up his gleaming white coat so that Rafe could slip his arms into the sleeves. He shrugged it on.

“Excellent, Your Highness,” his valet murmured, straightening it on him.

Rafe nodded, inspected himself in the mirror, and flicked a thread off the gold epaulet.

“Your dress sword, sir.”

Rafe accepted the long silver blade, sliding it into the jeweled sheath at his hip

According to the reports brought to him every half hour, his little bride’s progress was coming along more slowly, her ladyship fighting and balking every step of the way. By the sound of it, her final transformation from bandit to bride was proving a difficult one, painful for everyone involved.

“Rafe,” Adriano said again, cutting into his thoughts. “Tell me you’re not really going to go through with this.”

Rafe flashed him a grin.

Adriano glared. “What about Chloe?”

Rafe clapped him suddenly on the arm, blithely deciding on the instant that he wouldn’t be needing Chloe after all. Dani was really all that he required. “I’ve got a smasher of an idea, di Tadzio. You can have her.”

Adriano stared blankly at him.
“What?”

“You seem to have an inordinate interest in the woman. She’s all yours. A hint—don’t fall for the tears. She weeps at the drop of a hat. That’s what the theaters pay her for. I think she fancies Orlando a bit, though. Be warned.”

“It’s not like that between Chloe and me,” he said flatly.

Selecting a cologne from his expensive collection, Rafe gave a chiding laugh. “You flirt with her. I’ve seen you. Don’t misunderstand—I don’t mind in the slightest. I give you my blessing. Frankly, I thought you had already indulged—not your fault, of course. Chloe can make herself hard to resist, I know,” he said easily, waving off Adriano’s protest. Suddenly sensing danger for his shy little bride, Rafe turned to him. “You know Chloe is angry about my marriage.”

“Of course. I just came from her townhouse. She is distraught.”

Rafe’s gaze hardened. “Keep her on a leash for me, di Tadzio, will you? I mean it. I don’t want her mauling Daniela.”

“Rafe.” Adriano stood and met him eye to eye. “Don’t go through with this. God, what’s happened to you? You used to be so amusing. For weeks you’ve been a bore.”

“Tell me how you really feel, di Tadzio,” he said, chuckling as he walked away.

“Chloe loves you!” Adriano exclaimed, following him. “Marry one of your father’s broodmares if you must, but she’s the one you belong with. Yes, she and I spend a lot of time together, but all she talks about is you. ‘Tell me about Rafe when you were boys.’ ‘Will Rafe like this gown?’ If I take her out to a café, ‘We must bring Rafe here!’ ‘Do you really think Rafe cares for me?’”

Rafe rolled his eyes.

“Frankly, I think you’re making a big mistake.”

“A mistake?” He grabbed Adriano by the arm and pulled him over to the balcony, thrusting the French doors open wider. “Look.”

Below them in the sunshine, a cheering throng sprawled as far as the eye could see. “A royal wedding. The Masked Rider, no less! You’re missing the whole point, di Tadzio. Look at them down there. They’re eating this up!”

Adriano’s gaze moved slowly over the throng. “I see you learned something from your years of chasing actresses,” he said softly. “You’ve become quite the showman.”

“You witless ornament, you understand nothing!” Angrily, Rafe turned Adriano to face him, shoving him by the shoulder. “If Chloe was under the delusion that I was going to marry her, she’s the one who’s out of her mind. Daniela Chiaramonte was born and bred to be queen, and you can tell Chloe I said so.”

Adrian looked at him in cool hauteur for a moment. “I’ll do that, Your Highness.”

Something about Adriano’s insolent stare infuriated him. “You really ought to try her, di Tadzio. She’s even better on her back than she is on stage.” He kept going. “What’s the matter? Afraid she’s too much woman for you?”

Adriano muttered a foul epithet at him and left the room. Rafe stared after him, his anger ablaze, then he noticed Elan’s glance slide from the slammed door to him.

“What?” he snapped.

Elan’s face assumed its most diplomatic look. “Your Highness, Adriano is…how shall I say? Ah, never mind.”

“You think he’s right? Is that it?” he demanded, shoving aside a vague, uneasy flicker of recognition. Some things were better left ignored. Still, he was angry at himself for yelling at so fragile a creature. God forbid that he had just set Adriano off again on one of his ghastly suicide threats.

“No, nothing like that.” Elan came toward him with a fresh glass of wine, which he gave to Rafe. “For my part, I think this is the best move you’ve made.”

Placated somewhat, Rafe took a drink, then nodded. “Damned right it is. She’s my choice. She’s what Ascencion needs. She’s tough. She’s beautiful and good, and above all, she’s loyal.” He was determined to believe in her. At least he was trying. “She’s what I need, and if my father doesn’t like it, he can leave the bloody throne to Leo for all I care.”

Elan lifted his glass, regarding Rafe in amusement. “To the bride.”

“The Masked Rider. Let’s pray her virgin blood is the only type shed tonight,” he muttered under his breath.

They clinked glasses and drank.

Dear God,
prayed Dani, her face white behind her gauzy veil,
please don’t let me fall flat on my face getting out of the coach. Don’t let me make a fool of myself, that’s all I ask.

The splendid state carriage, drawn by six white horses, floated to a halt in front of the cathedral amid a sea of seething humanity that stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see. The Royal Guard in full dress uniform held the roaring crowd at bay along the wide steps. Dani held on to her grandfather’s arm for dear life. His Grace, the Duke of Chiaramonte, looked terribly dignified with his heavy white mustache and his newly cleaned and pressed military uniform. He was humming tunelessly under his breath in his gentle, raspy tenor, but he seemed lucid enough.

“Didn’t I tell you you should get Prince Rafael to woo you?” the old man said with a sidelong grin.

“Grandfather.”

“Must have been my telling him about your talents, Dani, mark my word,” he said with a wink. “How many young ladies out there can stand astride a galloping horse’s back?”

“Oh, Grandfather.”

Her composure was stretched thin from a whole day of being poked and prodded and fussed over by the snobbish royal couturiere and the hairdressers and various experts in protocol. She had fought the torturers every step of the way, but by the time they were through with her, she had to admit she would do her temporary husband no discredit.

Crowning her carefully curled hair and securing her veil in place was a tiara of glistening brilliants formed into rosebuds. It was the richest thing she had ever seen. Her gown was a masterpiece of elegant splendor. A long train of shimmering gold satin lamé, embroidered at the bottom with seashells and flowers representing Ascencion, flowed back luxuriously over her shoulders, secured in front between her breasts by a jeweled brooch depicting the lion rampant of the royal house. Her white satin petticoat had creamy Brussels lace over it and rows of folds trimmed with gold ribbon. Her long gloves and slippers were of white satin.

The perfume of the pale roses in her nosegay filled her nostrils, every inch of her skin was kissed by the pearly silk chemise she wore beneath the heavy gown, and her ears rang with the wild pealing cadence of the cathedral’s bells, the slamming boom of the cannons, and the crowd’s ceaseless cheering.

One glance around the square proved that Rafael had scored innumerable points in the hearts of Ascencioners everywhere. Dani had never guessed that the Masked Rider was so well loved. The royal rake’s past excesses were forgotten in the ecstasy of the day. The people’s faith in his honorable nature, it seemed, had been restored by his gallant show of mercy toward her and her friends. They did not realize they had played right into his hands. He was, she decided, more Machiavellian than charming, as princes went.

Just then, the coach door opened to reveal one comfortingly steady face. The friendly buzzard, young Viscount Elan, Rafael’s best man, stood at the ready, giving her a bolstering smile. He helped her grandfather gingerly out of the coach, then turned back and offered her his hand.

The time had come.

Dani trembled and held her breath. Gathering all the poise she possessed, she ducked her head coming out of the coach, pausing with one foot on the step to steal a glimpse at the surging crowd, like a dizzying mosaic made of living colored tiles, and the towering gray cathedral, and the white flash of the circling birds with the sun on their wings.

The mob roared when she emerged. Swallowing hard, she looked at Elan, grateful for the sincere welcome she read in his eyes.

“Please tell me he’s in there,” she whispered over the crowd’s roar. “Please tell me he came and that this is not some horrific jest.”

“My lady, your bridegroom awaits you,” he murmured with a fond look, then he gave her back to her tall, gaunt grandfather, bowing to him. “Your Grace.”

Grandfather nodded. As they marched toward the entrance of the cathedral, Dani could smell the frankincense pouring out from the great doors, could already hear the pipe organ’s jubilant polyphonics in a dazzling tapestry of sound, punctuated by the trumpets’ proud hail.

Clinging in fright to her grandfather’s steadfast arm, she could see nothing inside the church during those seconds while her eyes adjusted from the sunshine to the pious dim. As her eyes adjusted, she recalled praying in this cathedral dozens of times before, but never had the central aisle appeared so long.

Adorned with a narrow white carpet strewn with rose petals, it seemed to stretch a mile before her, and at the far end of her walk there waited a man.

The prince’s tall, powerful silhouette was bathed in the multicolored light streaming through the rosetta window.

Dani stared at him from behind her veil, then looked around slowly. The cathedral was packed to the rafters with the highest nobility in the land, all wearing their proscribed court costumes in the style of the previous century. She was sure they must be cross with her for giving scarcely any notice of the grand event. She wished she could tell them it was Rafael’s fault.